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Text 2

New York

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I’d arrived in New York a supernova, exploding with all the hope and vitality I’d so
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carefully sequestered and saved. In my new school, I was no longer Riley Brighton,
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that Asian girl, but Riley Brighton, anthropology major and playlist keeper, long-walk
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taker, vault of obscure food knowledge. Among classmates who were raised in second
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languages, with parents who packed their dorm fridges with banchan and roti and
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worked in countries I could not handily locate on a map, I had become a girl whose
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primary trait was no longer her Asianness. And yet it was that very Asianness that
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helped ease me into this new existence. Everyone was from somewhere else – a suburb
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of Tegucigalpa, the Jewish hills of Michigan, the Colombian part of Queens – and we
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were here, at this hallowed institution, precisely because we’d proven ourselves differ-
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ent from normal people. I’d spent my childhood in Oregon striving toward the domi-
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nant culture – the narrow hips and spaghetti straps of the white and outdoorsy. For the
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first time, it felt strangely advantageous to be me, good even, being half-Asian with a
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pollen allergy, an avid reader with lumpy social skills – it made a natural entry point
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to connecting with my peers, with the city, with this gateway to the larger world. I’d
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been stripped of my tokenism, and what was left surprised me, this desire to explore
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what it meant to be me.
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In New York, for the first time, I was acknowledged as a woman – the doors held
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open, the careful smiles, the piqued interest as I passed. This attention, it was for me,
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had nothing to do with Morgan or my parents. [...]
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My freshman year, I ate alone in a restaurant for the first time in my life. It was part
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of the program to harden myself, and after a while, I got good, then really good, at
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being alone in a room full of strangers. Going out for lunch was my first friend. I had
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a place in most neighborhoods where the lunch was cheap and no one bothered me,
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where I sat and disappeared. This place was one of them, [...] and there he was: James
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Greenly. He looked up as I recognized him, surprise opening his face. Then suddenly
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he was standing up, saying, "Oh shit," pulling out a chair for me to sit in, all of it so
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far from how I’d imagined it happening. We hugged, arranged ourselves across from
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each other, and a dozen pleasantries ran through my head – nice things, normal things.
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"What are you doing here?" I said instead, surprising myself.
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"What do you mean?"
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"Do you like this place?"
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James looked at me, clearly amused.
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"Sorry." I paused, tried to pivot. It was too hard. I decided to say it. "It’s just you
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have very Chinese taste in soup." [...]
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I blinked into the fluorescent lights, tried to collect myself. "Winter strikes and I
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have no idea how to talk to other humans. I become this social deviant."
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"Please," James spat. "I haven’t left my apartment since ... god damn. Since Thurs-
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day. Since Thursday." [...]
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"But you like it here," James said. It was an appraisal that flattered the hell out of
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me. I looked up from my bowl, told him I did, and it occurred to me then that James
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and I, we were doing the same thing. Here we were in New York, molting our skins,
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shedding ourselves of who we were back in Oregon. Morgan’s sister. Yearbook James.
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And we liked it here. We were happy here, growing strong and capable off the long,
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frigid winters, the authentic soup and snazzy banter. Something infallible reflected be-
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tween us, and collectively, we let it drop. Because how did we say it? How did we
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congratulate each other for making it here, without admitting we’d both been losers?
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"I never got to ask," James said, scooping me from my thoughts. "How did your
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parents like the article?"
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"Ah." I flushed. [...] "They loved you, actually."
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"What does that mean?"
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I smiled into my napkin. "Nothing," I said, swatting at the air because, at the time,
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it had felt like nothing.
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"Yeah, you’re going to have to tell me now."
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"They ..." I laughed. "My mom, I guess, but really both of them. They’ve been
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trying to get Morgan to ask you out.” I touched my eyes to the ceiling. "You’re a nice
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Oregon boy. You made them look like the shahs of the Upper West Side."
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"Did they say that?" James leaned forward, clearly flattered. "Honestly, the work
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has been so depressing lately, this is all very nice to hear. Please, go on."
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I removed my glasses, shaking my head, cleaning them with the hem of my shirt.
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Until this moment, I’d taken little offense to my parents pairing my sister with James.
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She was the one living at home, in the crossfire of their meddling. "They liked you," I
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said. Without consent, my voice had weakened. "Enough to sell your virtues to Mor-
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gan. She hasn’t been on a date in like a year; it’s starting to weird us all out. I think
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you get the point."
(997 words)
From: Cecily Wong, Kaleidoscope, New York: Dutton 2022

Text comprehension and analysis

Complete the following tasks using your own words as far as is appropriate.
Quote correctly.
1.
Describe the interaction between Riley and James and how it affects their relationship.
(15%)
2.
Analyse the effect of New York on Riley, taking into account the narrative perspective and four stylistic devices.
(20%)
(35%)

Composition

Choose one of the following topics and write a coherent text laying out your ideas.
1.
Cities are concrete jungles. Discuss.
2.
"What you get by achieving your goals is not as important as what you become by achieving your goals."
(Henry David Thoreau, 1817–1862, American philosopher and poet)
Comment on this statement.
3.
Describe briefly, analyse and comment on the cartoon.
englisch composition cartoon
Annotation
peat moss: type of moss used to help plants grow
(20%)

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